Waltz
by but seriously
Summary: -"Without even noticing it, she has a dance all of her own going on and she isn’t even on the dance floor." Oneshot, ZachCammie


**If I owned the Gallagher Girl series—  
**_**which I don't—  
**_**…ZachCammie wouldn't be even nearly as amazing as it already is.**

--

**Waltz**

_i. _**planchadoras**  
_a woman who sits all night at the milongas without being asked to dance_

She's standing there, subconsciously placing her hand on her hip like she's done so long ago, in another room, in what seemed like another life, and she finally decides that the damned dress that dips low in the back and reveals just the right amount of cleavage in the front either made her look like Jennifer Garner… or some poor, clueless girl who was _trying_ to look like Jennifer Garner—and failing miserably.

She tries to convince herself it's the former, but the ring that vibrates on her finger tells her otherwise.

_ii. _**vareador  
**_refers to a man who dances and flirts with all the ladies but never gets involved with anyone_

"What are you looking for?"

When faced with questions he'd rather not answer, Zach Goode settles into his modus operandi—which is to steel himself and remain quiet until the offending party became uncomfortable and explained themselves, or left. He preferred the latter.

But with her, oh no, it was different.

She had wanted answers, and was prepared to wait. Even more so than he was.

He tries to convince himself that counting all technicalities, he hadn't _left_ her, merely gave her another reason to hate the profession they chose—and the blonde in his arms burbles some laughter and he actually believes it.

_iii._ **ritmo  
**_rhythm_

Without even noticing it, she has a dance all of her own going on and she isn't even on the dance floor.

_iv._ **mira  
**_to look; see; observe; take notice_

"I'm sorry, Ashley, but I'm not too fond of Liszt."

But Ashley's breathless; eager. "Save me another dance, then," she trills, and he fights the wince off his face and nods yes, in promise.

_Lie_. But that's what spies do.

He doesn't dwell on it, no. Instead, he turns his head to where he thought he heard her soft laughter: And he sees her.

It's the way she moves; her dress billowing about her ankles in soft floaty material, her hand as it gracefully waves away some ridiculous notion or other that catches his eyes.

_v. _**otra vez**  
_another time_

"Excuse me, but may I steal her away for a moment?"

And just like a year ago, in another time, another life, or so it would seem, Zachary Goode leads Cameron Morgan away from that pathetic excuse of a man, and his eye level with her's, it's clear what he wants right now.

_vi._ **bailar**  
_to dance_

"Dance, Gallagher Girl," he whispers into her ear, and it's almost as if they're back in the Grand Hall of Gallagher Academy.

Almost as if nothing's changed at all.

_vii._ **marcar**  
_to plot a course; to guide; to lead_

Inwardly, Cammie rolls her eyes and chides herself for not expecting it. Of course, Zach of all people would choose to set the rhythm for the both of them, never telling her, always expecting her to follow.

She wants to fight back. She wants answers. This time, _she_ wants to lead.

_viii._ **amague**  
_to make a threatening motion as a feint_

Zach chuckles when she stiffens, and instinctively places his hand lower on her hip, thus pulling her closer. "What's the matter, Gallagher Girl?"

And it's when she's in the danger of pulling away that he leans down, and she freezes—but instead of her lips, he settles for telling her in a voice hardly above a whisper, "I would have thought you'd be used to this by now, Gallagher Girl." He straightens up again, surveying her with the same eyes she just hates. Mocking, teasing, and playing with fire. "Guess not."

_ix. _**entregarme  
**_surrender; to give oneself up to the leader's lead_

Her nails dig into his tuxedo pincers, the sharp pierce warning him not to try anything. Cammie pointedly grabs his hand and pulls it up higher, and follows as he sways her across the floor.

It only slightly bothers him that Cammie hasn't even said a word to him.

_x._ **zarandeo**_  
a vigorous shake to and fro; a swing; a push to and fro_

It's as if Zach's trying to shake some life into her, and when she glares at him, he only breaks out in that annoying half-smile of his.

_xi._ **suave**_  
smooth; steady and gentle; soft_

Cammie notices when his steps become lighter, and when his grip on her isn't as tight, or protective… possessive, even.

People _ooh_ and _ahh_ as they twirl past, everything a swirl of golden and red, and she can't decide whether she's having the best or worst night of her life.

_xii. _**elevadas  
**_dancing without keeping the feet on the floor_

It really does feel like she's flying; almost as freeing as free-falling down the side of the Empire State Building (one of their more extensive missions, involving a nuclear bomb and a very confused heiress) using rappel-a-hooks.

Cammie follows with less reluctance now.

_xiii. _**giro**  
_ turn; a turning step or figure_

She hardly thinks of it when the words tumble out of her lips, "What are you looking for?"

_xiv. _**caida  
**_fall; a step in which the man steps backward_

Zach wishes Cammie hadn't spoken up. His mind quickly conjures a snappy comeback, but his tongue refuses. He falters, and Cammie even pulls back, an incomprehensible look on her face as he sees the fickle in his eyes.

"Zach…" She frowns, her lips thinning into an uncertain line. "What are you doing here?"

He manages to choke out an, "I don't know." He takes a deep breath. "I honestly don't know, Gallagher Girl."

_xv. _**cadencia  
**_a deep check and replace, usually led by the man as he steps forward left. useful for avoiding collisions and making direction changes in small spaces_

The beat is set, the motion flows. Cammie's in his arms once again, rougher now, and she winces.

He doesn't really notice the look of pain that crosses her face when he wounds his arm—too tight—around her body, but just looks, unseeing, over her head.

And she swallows back a wave of nausea, because maybe Zachary Goode doesn't see her as well as she thinks.

_xvi. _**quebrada**_  
break; broken_

But it's useless now. The spell's broken; the dance isn't as flawless as it had been before.

_xvii._ **parada  
**_to stop; a stop_

"Zach—"

Their dance is faster now, she notes. On the brink of beating the tempo of the music guiding them. She blinks any worry away and raises her voice. "Zach, you need to stop."

"Za—!"

He dips her low.

_xviii._ **lento**  
_slowly_

"Still think I should stop?" he murmurs.

Her breath catches in her throat.

_xix. _**junta  
**_to join or to bring together_

"What about now?" The space between them is practically nonexistent. Her eyes are wide with shock; his eyes dark, daring her to pull away.

She doesn't.

_xx._ **espejo**_  
mirror; to mirror the movement of one's partner; a figure where the man and woman both do forward ochos at the same time_

Zach leans one, two, three inches closer, a fierce wave of — _something _— rushing through him, and she's so close he can count her individual eyelashes, until—

_xxi._ **arrepentida**_  
repentant; to change one's mind; a family of steps which allow a couple to back away from a collision or traffic jam in a minimal amount of space and on short notice_

Her eyes close instinctively—but the soft pressure against her lips, the one she's yearned for since that last meeting they had a year ago; it never comes. Opening her eyes just a tad, she sees him watching her every movement, every emotion that flicker past her eyes.

"What about now?"

She isn't sure, but Zach sounds a bit breathless.

_xxii._ **titubeo  
**_hesitation_

The dance is dwindling down, though she doesn't want to admit it, the comfort of his strong, warm arms is enough to lull her out of hyper-awareness. Out of being a spy.

Zach opens his mouth to say something, and she waits.

And waits.

And waits.

And he never finishes it. He gives her a fleeting look of something she can't decipher before giving a shake of his head that was so miniscule, she wouldn't have detected it if her senses weren't so acute.

"I think we're done here, Gallagher Girl." And _he_'sthe one who pulls away.

_xxiii. _**pausa  
**_pause; wait; hold a position for more than two beats_

"Why?" she whispers, searching his eyes, but all she can see is nothing. And it's that nothing-ness that reminds her that to him, everything is a game.

A game that he would always win, hands down.

_xxiv. _**resolución  
**_resolution; close_

"Why?" she asks, and it's a question the he can finally answer.

He wonders mildly what the burning sensation in his chest was as he studies her, lips free of his previous smirk. "Cammie, you should know by now." He points to himself as he says simply, hoarsely, "Spy."

_fin_

--

**That was choppy. And disjointed. And just plain horrible. I'm sorry, readers.**

**I wouldn't have finished this—wouldn't have even gotten past 'ritmo'—if it weren't for the cheering-ons and the urgings from Gabbi. Ilygirly!**

**Eh, I hope I got the characters right. Feel free to concrit.**

**Reviews! They melt my hard, unwanted heart! :D**


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